


You Can't Pause Multiplayer

by FuzzyBee013



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyBee013/pseuds/FuzzyBee013
Summary: He doesn’t know how it started or how he let it get this bad. He just knows that it happened and… still does.Peter has anxiety/depression.





	You Can't Pause Multiplayer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey All! It's been a while since I've written fanfics and this is my first post on this site. Please be kind :)
> 
> Be aware, there is little to no action. It's all in his head. Slight stream of consciousness.

He doesn’t know how it started or how he let it get this bad. He just knows that it happened and… still does. 

* * *

 

“Peter! You’re going to be late to school if you don’t start moving now! Please don’t have me ask you again!” May yelled, saying “screw you” to teenage privacy as she barged through Peter’s bedroom door after the first three attempts at trying to wake him up while throwing a toasted bagel at his face for added measure. 

 

She was met with a “hmmrgg” from the swaddled pile on the bed.

 

“I mean it!” and considering neither May or Peter were morning people, she probably did.

 

Peter groaned again, opened his eyes, and stared at the wall. He thought about how much he didn’t want to get up and how much he preferred his toasty nest and fuzzy sheets that feel like he’s sleeping between two sheep. On the other hand, he also understands May’s frustration and  _ does not _ want to be on the bad end of  _ that _ . 

 

His eyes are open and he’s fully awake now. He looks at the clock. Yeah, he probably has a solid two minutes before he can’t delay any longer.  _ Okay, in two minutes you are going to get out of bed _ . 

 

The two minutes tick by and he anxiously waits as they go. He finds himself thinking why he doesn’t just get out of bed now. He’s awake and waiting for the two minutes is torture, but, for whatever reason, he needs to wait those two minutes. 

 

The clock chirps, he groans, and he throws his body off the bed to thump on the floor. 

 

May looks in as she walks between the bathroom and kitchen: “Stop messing around. I don’t want to get another call from your school.”

 

Peter stands up with bruised, but easily healable skin and, at a much faster pace, performs his morning routine and is lucky enough to slide in his first period door as the bell rings.

 

“Dude, this is like the third time this week you’ve barely made it on time. What’s up?” Ned whispered as the teacher began the warmup.

 

“Overslept” Peter said as he rubbed his eye and tried and failed to contain a yawn. Ned seemed to accept that answer and started on his work.

 

Peter tried to start his work. He really, really did. He cracked his knuckles, had his pen ready, had a fresh sheet of paper for notes. He was even prepared to pinch himself periodically to make sure he stayed awake. But, as the day carried on, his attempt at a “school resolution” seemed to deteriorate and die like an orange that went rotten in a day. 

 

And, to make matters worse, they got their tests back in physics.

 

“May won’t be happy when she sees that,” Ned said gesturing at Peter’s grade.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled about the other tests too,” Peter shot back.

 

“Hey, man,” Ned said putting his hands up in a surrendering position “I’m not trying to pick a fight, but… maybe you should layoff the spider-manning for a while?” Ned asked, his face scrunching up in concern and his voice softening in tone. 

 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Peter sighed.

 

The thing was though, Peter had cut back on spider-man. He only went out for an hour or two a night now and only five nights a week  _ at most _ . He would put on the suit and be ready for the thrill of taking on criminals, helping people, making someone’s day but… then he would put the suit on. He would listen to Karen’s chatter. He would listen for crime. He would feed the weight of the costume that rested on his shoulders. He could feel the dependence on him like he felt that building on him from  _ that _ night.  And he would stare out at the entirety of New York and feel the insignificance of his life. How stopping a couple of crimes a night wasn’t really making a difference. How  _ he _ didn’t make a difference.

 

He would climb down from whatever high rise he found himself on. Take the suit off- it could be suffocating- and walk the long way home.

 

May would greet him when he came home for dinner and be happy that he was safe and making time to do “normal teenager things.” He would kiss her cheek, push around his food, and head to his room to do his homework. 

 

His books would be open, his lamp turned on, a drink ready to parch his thirst. Yet, his homework remained undone. The assignments weren’t hard- Peter could probably do most of it in his sleep- and he kind of wishes he could/would- but his hand remained poised on the blank page, his eyes would zero in on the point where the two red lines intersect and just… stare. 

 

He felt stuck. He’d been feeling that way for a lot of things lately. He felt like he was glued to his mattress in the morning. That his bones were laced with metal, yet didn’t seem to have the strength to lift them. Couldn’t he be like Wolverine and the metal be his strength instead of his weakness?

 

Maybe he should call Ned? They could do their homework together and… maybe get him out of this funk.

 

But… should he bother him. What time is it anyways? 9:00? Ned might be heading to bed soon and Peter new his mother was a bit of a buzzard who was a stickler for routine. Peter would probably be interrupting something important or just give Ned a hard time. Ned probably already did his homework when he got home from school and didn’t want to waste what remaining freetime he did have having to help Peter with his homework. 

 

Peter debated calling Ned for fifteen minutes.

 

“Hey, Peter, what’s up? Something cool happen on patrol? Catch a bus or something?” Ned began talking the minute Peter called him. It was typical, Ned. He was always so excited to look into Peter’s second life as a vigilante. 

 

“Yeah, it was real good. I stopped a couple of car thefts and this kid who couldn’t find his parents,” Peter smiled remembering the look of relief the parents had on their faces when Peter had brought the five year old to them.

 

“Wow, man! Sometimes I wished I had your life. I would be able to sneak around and use New York as my playground. Hey did you hear about…” Ned continued talking about a new lego set that had just come out and Peter let him. He found himself just listening to the sound of Ned’s voice, his head nodding along and a quiet “uh huh” when prompted, but Peter wasn’t  _ involved _ in the conversation. It was like his body was there, present with Ned, but Peter was stuck staring at that same red intersection. It was almost a blessing that Ned was his usual talkative self  so Peter didn't need to hold up his end of the conversation. He hardly even noticed when Ned began to whisper.

 

“Sorry, Peter, I’ve got to go. My mom will be mad if she catches me up this late. See you tomorrow at school.”

 

“Yeah… see ya,” Peter slurred out before he was met with the tone of Ned disconnecting.  An hour had passed and yet it seemed like Peter was still in the same place he was before the conversation had started. He felt like his brain was in this constant fog like those first few seconds when he first woke up, but the seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours.

 

He closed his textbook with a sigh, he wouldn’t be getting anything done tonight. Instead he sat in his desk chair and looked at his bed. He wanted to get into his bed. He remembers the feeling of sleeping on a sheep, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His brain wanted to do one thing, but couldn’t remember how to connect the synapses to sit his body up and move his legs the two feet to the bed. Maybe if he just threw himself, maybe his body would hit the bed? 

 

His back began to ache and his fingers began to tingle from dangling uselessly at the sides of his chair.  _ Come on, Peter, get up. Go to bed. It is right there. It isn’t that hard _ . Was the continued mantra that pettered through his brain, but the only response he got were a couple sluggish blinks and a twitch of his fingers. 

* * *

 

“Peter, remember Happy is picking you up after school to go to the compound, so be sure to bring your bag,” May said stooping over to him a kiss on the cheek, “and good morning.”

 

“‘Morning. What time is it?” Peter grumbled out. At some point in the night, his body finally listened to his brain and made it into the bed, but of course, at that point, his brain decided to wake up- for the next four hours. It was like anytime Peter wanted to do something his brain would do the opposite, like it was constantly trying to mess with him. So when Peter wanted to sleep, his brain would say “nope” and proceed to think of the million and one things that he needed to do tomorrow or about the proper pronunciation of caramel or Captain America’s weird-ass hairdo. 

 

“Time for you to get up, that’s what,” she responded, smacking his leg while she stood up from where she had sat next to him before making her way to the kitchen.

 

He looked at the clock. Seven. That means he got maybe two hours of sleep- if he was lucky, which, based on Parker luck, he probably wasn’t. It was going to be another long day.

 

“Here,” May pushed a cup of coffee in his hands, “It looks like you need it. Have a good day at school,” she smiled, brushing his hair before grabbing her purse and walking out the door. He must really look like crap because May was always the one scolding him about how coffee is making him short.

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Happy, thanks for picking me up,” Peter said as he entered the car. 

 

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Happy said, but when he looked in the rearview mirror, he had a smile on his face. “How was school, kid?”

 

“Not too bad. I’m glad it’s Friday,” Peter said putting his backpack on the seat next to him proceeding to lean against the door.

 

“How did your physics test go?” Happy asked as he pulled out of the carpool lane and set his sights for the freeway.

 

“Eh, it could have gone better,” Peter shrugged.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“It’s one test. I’ll be okay.”

 

“You’ll do better next time I’m sure.”

 

“Yeah. Next time.”

 

The car wove down into silence then. The only sounds were the clicking of the chain hanging from the rearview mirror, the back and forth sign of the blinker whenever Happy changed lanes, and the occasional clearing of the throat from Happy or a long sigh from Peter.

 

“You want a snack, kid?” Happy asked, already reaching into the glove box for a granola bar. He’d never seen the kid tired except when he’s hungry. Nothing food can’t fix.

 

“No, that’s okay,” Peter sighed. Happy looked at him in the mirror, but Peter continued to look out his window at the passing cars, trees, and occasional bird. 

 

“Peter, denying food, are you sick?” Happy joked. It was rare that he needed to uphold the conversation, usually it was all the kid. It was hard to get him to  _ stop _ talking for that matter. And since he usually only saw him once every other week, Peter had enough topics to keep talking for the entire ride to the compound.

 

“I’m just not that hungry. Had a big lunch,” Peter offered by way of explanation. 

 

“Alright. Suit yourself.” Happy made a note to tell Tony that something was up with the kid. Maybe he could figure out what was up.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Pete, how was school today?” Tony asked when FRIDAY announced his arrival into the lab.

 

“The usual,” Peter deadpanned as he threw his backpack on the old, leather couch and proceeded to his work station. Midway through, he stopped at the bar and grabbed one of the stools that he slowly screeched along the floor. 

 

“Geez, do I hear some teen angst in that dying cat crawling across my floor?” Tony joked and upon looking at Peter’s face, completely straight as if he hadn’t even heard the joke. “Something happen at school?” he asked going back to his own table, trying to not act too concerned, but making sure to ask the right questions.

 

“Naw. It was just one of those days, you know?” Peter said shrugging, not looking up from the wires he was splicing.

 

“Yeah, I know about those days,” and Tony left it at that. Everyone was allowed to have an off-day, even Peter. It was probably all those teenage hormones and what not turning him blue. 

 

It was after fifteen minutes- he had FRIDAY keep track- of Peter staring at nothing, that Tony decided to intervene.

 

“You okay there, kid?” he asked, waving a hand in front of his face, a smirk on his lips.

 

“What? Yeah, yeah, Mr. Stark. I’m good. Just got stuck in space I guess…” realizing his mistake “Shit, bad choice of words,” he amended with a sheepish look.

 

“Wow. Did I just hear, Peter Parker, goody-two shoes, no-it-all, almost a reincarnation of the Boy Scout himself, swear?” Tony pressed a hand to his chest and gasped.

 

“Oh, stuff it”

 

“And sassy too! I think you’ve been spending too much time here, because you’re starting to pick up my bad habits.”

 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m just tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

 

“No worries, Parker. How about some food?” He asked already guiding the kid upstairs with a hand on his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The following week went much the same. The struggle to get out of bed - or move anywhere- continued. He was late to school three times and the school called May, causing an argument and ending in disappointment. 

 

His motivation to do homework seemed to somehow decrease along with his ability to swing around as the friendly neighborhood spider-man. 

 

He didn’t bother calling Ned this week. He was just bothering him. At most, he sat by him at lunch, but couldn’t be bothered to do more than grunt on command. He just couldn’t seem to do much of anything aside from stare into space and occasionally close his eyes only for them to open in what felt like seconds to another restless sleep.

 

He just couldn’t seem to participate. Not in school, not with his friends, not with May, not with spider-man. Not with life. 

 

It was like his life was put on pause while everyone else was still playing, but, the thing is, you can’t pause multiplayer. He kept losing points and hearts until there was nothing left, just “the end.”

 

And Peter didn’t know why. He didn’t know why his eyes would get stuck on some minnute detail and steal his attention for minutes. He didn’t know why he couldn’t think of any more words to say- to anyone. He didn't know why, he was just so  _ disinterested _ . God, he just wanted to have his life back.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, kid, you want to come over tonight for dinner? Rhodey is going to be in town and he hasn’t met you yet and I feel like you two should meet. He’s been asking about you. So, what do you say?” Peter made the mistake of answering his phone, but it  _ was _ Mr. Stark and he felt obligated to answer Mr. Stark’s calls because, well, he did give him a multibillion dollar suit, let him work in the lab with him, and was a sort of pseudo-mentor type thing. And, the one time Peter didn’t answer Mr. Stark’s phone call, it wasn’t ten minutes before there was an iron man suit outside his living room window. It really didn’t help that Aunt May had currently been watching  _ Terminator _ and was thoroughly freaked out. 

 

“Uh” was Peter’s intelligent reply, his brain still trying to process what exactly had come through his cell phone. Was it even words?

 

“Don’t tell me you have plans? Because if you have plans-”

 

“No, uh, no, it’s fine. I can go.”

 

“Great. Happy will be there within an hour to pick you up. See you in a bit.” Peter didn’t so much as get to say “bye” before the phone was already disconnected and Peter was back to his quiet apartment, sitting in his desk chair not doing homework, wondering if the conversation even happened (if you could call it that).

 

“I think I’m going to dinner with Mr. Stark,” he said aloud to make it real. So, now what? His brain was still processing. What was it that someone did at a “dinner party”? What was he supposed to wear? Was this casual or formal? Did he need to wear a tie? Could he wear jeans or was that too casual? Mr. Rhodes is a military man, so he’s probably really formal, but that’s probably just the uniform. He couldn’t just jump to stereotypes.  Mr. Rhodes is a normal dude… that happens to be War Machine. Maybe he should wear the tie. But what if neither of them is wearing a tie and then he’ll just look stupid because he never wears ties and suddenly, out-of-the-blue Peter Parker decides to wear a tie. Does he even own a tie? 

 

Peter ran to his closet. Probably the quickest he’s moved that week and looked at the clothes that had accumulated. About half were on their hangers and the rest were either in stacks or piled on the floor in various states of disarray. He then began picking up a plethora of clothing and going through it in a state similar to his rapid fire thoughts.

 

“Huh, am I supposed to bring something?” Peter hadn’t thought about that. May always said that you were supposed to bring something when you went to someone’s house for dinner. She always brought wine, but Peter can’t bring wine because he’s obviously under age and how would that look if an underage kid brought wine to a dinner party, especially one where he’s meeting Mr. Rhodes? What would Mr. Stark think? Peter sank to the floor of his closet, hands tearing at his hair. Peter knew he was trying to cut back on the alcohol and so if Peter brings a bottle of wine then he would be like mocking Mr.Stark or shoving it in his face that he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol. But if that happens, then Mr. Rhodes will be the only one who can drink the wine and then he’ll feel obligated to drink some and you can’t just let a bottle of wine sit and then Mr. Rhodes will get drunk and feel crappy the next day and it will all be Peter’s fault. His hands continued going up and down the sides of his head as his heart rate accelerated. His breathing became ragged with pants until there were tears coming out of his eyes and he couldn't see the shirt hanging in front of his eyes anymore. 

 

“I’m so stupid,” is all Peter can think as he tries to suck in enough air, but it hurts. It hurts so much like he swallowed a bottle of glue and it’s stuck somewhere between his esophagus and stomach and it won’t move, it just cools and hardens into a solid lump that blocks his breathing.  _ Come on, Parker. Get it together _ . With each syllable he threw his head back into the wall. Fingers now scratching at his hairline just so that he can  _ feel _ something to put him back into his skin. 

 

It didn’t work. Instead Peter woke up with a headache and a pounding in his head. Except the pounding was actually coming from his front door.

 

“Shit! Happy!” Peter jumped up, stumbled through his clothes, gripping the hangers to keep his balance but instead the bar fell on his head with a loud crack.

 

Kicking a pair of shorts off his foot, Peter ran to the front door.

 

“One second!” Peter yanked open the door and found Happy standing on May’s owl doormat, hand slightly raised to begin knocking again.

 

“Jesus, kid, you look like you just rolled out of bed. What have you been doing?”

 

And that’s when Peter realizes what he must look like. He still has on the same clothes he was wearing all day, there are tear tracks on his face from his earlier “episode.” He knew they were there. He could feel the sticky puffiness that always accompanied a crying fit. Not to mention the lump that was growing at the top of his head and scratching lines at his crown. 

 

And that’s when Peter realized that he had just been standing there looking at Happy. Why didn’t he invite him in? Why was he being so rude? Why can’t he do anything right? But then he looked back inside the apartment and looked at the dirty dishes still in the sink from breakfast, the hand-knit blanket rumpled on the coach that May had knitted two years ago. But she had messed up the pattern so that it randomly shifted right three inches making it look like it was two separate blankets that were badly sewn together. And then he looked at Happy and wondered what he would think of the Parker’s living condition if he invited him inside?

 

“Can I meet you downstairs in, like, five minutes?”

 

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Happy shrugged though his eyes held concern. Peter closed the door and could hear Happy moving down the hall towards the elevator.

 

He closed his eyes and his body seemed to melt into the floor like condensation on a cold glass. 

 

“Fuck, fuck” his head beat against the door. “Come on, Parker. Get it together. Don’t get stuck.” So as his body slunk to the floor he wormed it across the floor so that he was still in motion. He needed to keep moving or else his limbs would lock up and then Happy would be impatient for having to wait even longer for him.

 

So, with this weird slithering motion, Peter made his way back towards his room and put on his closest, clean shirt and kept the jeans he had been wearing. Since he had made it into a standing position at this point, he was able to take a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror above the sink. He threw some water on his bloodshot eyes and decided that his hair was a lost cause. He made his way downstairs.

  
  


“Hey, you doing alright?” Happy inquired as Peter slammed the door shut and Happy started the car, checked his blind spot, and rolled into traffic. 

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just ended up falling asleep,” Peter said not looking at Happy, but instead at the buildings moving past. Though he wasn’t really looking at them because his eyes remained stagnant instead of flickering back and forth, following a building as it moved through his field of vision. The kid was lying between his teeth. Happy knew this the moment the kid opened his front door and saw his blood shot eyes and a random sock attached to the shoulder of his shirt. 

 

“Well, if you need help with anything… you let me know,” Happy said, turning his gaze back to the road. Peter’s head turned down, trying to steady his breathing. Now he was worrying Happy with his stupid issues. This is something that he can handle and he shouldn’t have to push that on to anyone else. It’s not Happy’s fault that he’s a mess and therefore he shouldn’t be one who has to clean it up.

 

All Happy could do was listen to Peter slowly draw in breaths and try to put himself back together. 

 

When the car stopped, Happy pulled the key out of the ignition and turned, one arm on the wheel and the other on the back of the passenger seat.

 

“Peter-” he was cut off by the kid slamming his door shut. Happy sighed and put his hand to his forehead and dragging it lengthwise down his face. 

* * *

 

 

When Happy dropped him off, he immediately made his way towards the dining room on autopilot. He had been there many times before and didn’t know why he was so- so uptight about this encounter.

 

When he arrived, both Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Stark where sitting in the lounge casually talking. Peter stopped in the threshold. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he also didn’t want to look like a creeper skulking on the edge of the room like he was eavesdropping. He was saved from having to figure out what to do, by Mr. Stark.

 

“Hey, Pete, come over here and meet Rhodey,” Mr. Stark said standing up and waving a hand . Peter walked over, very conscious of the way his shoes slightly squeaked on the polished hardwood floor and the shifting sound his clothes made.

 

“He-Hey, Mr. Rhodes it’s nice to meet you,” he stuttered out with enough good sense to raise a hand in greeting. At least he had enough internal training to put his manners on autopilot.

 

“You too, Peter. Tony has told me a lot about you,” Rhodey grinned, shaking Peter’s hand. Peter looked at edge of Rhodey’s ear lobe and thought about what Mr. Stark could have told Mr. Rhodes. Did he tell him about the ferry? Did he tell him about his screw up with the suit last week when he couldn’t get it off properly so he had to-

 

“Pete, part of a handshake is letting go,” Mr. Stark  laughed bringing Peter’s attention back to the clasped hands in front of him and Rhodey’s slightly awkward expression.

 

“Oh, s-s-sorry Mr. Rhodes.”   


“No worries, Peter. You’ve got quite a grip,” Rhodey said before heading towards the table.

 

“He’s just a little star struck. He acted the same way when he first met me,” Tony said ruffling his hair and following after Rhodey. Peter looked after them thinking about how embarrassing this was. He wasn’t some little kid who got his words stuck between his teeth and hands started wringing themselves whenever he met someone. He was spider-man. He should be able to handle a dinner. 

 

“You planning on eating or what?” Tony called from the table. 

* * *

 

 

Happy dropped him off at his apartment building around ten. Peter half heartedly waved goodbye and pushed open the door and headed towards the stairs since the elevator was broken again. By the time he made it to the seventh floor, he wasn’t even winded and headed towards his and May’s front door.

 

It was locked. 

 

“Shit, I didn’t bring my keys,” he muttered, digging through his pockets in a hopeless effort. Maybe May was home? 

 

He knocked softly. Before he even put his hand down a frazzled looking May opened the door. Her hair was down, part uneven, and two significant dents from where it had been tied into a bun.

 

“Peter! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all night? I thought you said you weren’t going out?!” She ushered him inside pushing him into a chair by the table.

 

“I uh-”

 

“Where’s your phone why haven't you been answering it?”

 

“I uh- I don’t know. I thought I had it with me, but-”

 

“Peter, that’s the whole point of a phone. I was so worried. Something could have happened-”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll be better,” Peter whispered. The tears that had been turning on and off like a bipolar faucet were brimming. He turned his face down.

 

“I don’t understand, Peter. You’ve been acting weird all week. You would tell me if something was happening right?” May sat down in the chair adjacent to his, facing him, their knees almost touching. 

 

“I’m fine.” Peter got up, brushed past her and made his way into his room. The door closed a little too loudly behind him. 

 

Why was he such a screw up? He didn’t remember his keys or his phone? He didn’t even remember to tell May that he was leaving that night? Why would he put her through that after everything that’s already happened… 

 

He knew how much she worried and he was only making it worse. At this rate, she was probably going to die of a heart attack from worrying about Peter so much, and then Peter would have to attend yet another funeral and be left perpetually alone. Maybe it was what he deserved, but it wasn’t what she deserved. 

 

The whole night had been a disaster. A couple months ago he would have been thrilled to meet an avenger. He  _ was _ thrilled when he met an Avenger, Mr. Stark. Yet, when he went to meet Rhodey, he could barely manage two words without stuttering. He didn’t invite up any conversation. He just sat there and let Mr. stark and Mr. Rhodes dictate the conversation, making them do all the heavy lifting as he just sat there, a freeloader, like he was only there to take advantage of the free food.. And he didn’t even bring anything with him. God, how much of a screw up could he be if he can’t even get  _ dinner _ right?

 

“Peter?” May’s soft voice came through the door, before she turned the knob and walked in seeing Peter laying on his bed curled on his side facing the wall. The light from the hallway made a ray over his shoulders. “What’s going on, honey?” She asked again, closing the door and submerging the room into darkness again. She received no response. “Please, let me help you,” she whispered, sitting on the bed causing Peter’s body to slightly jiggle with the movement, sliding towards the dent that her legs made. 

 

She received no response. “Come on, Peter, I hate when you get like this. What can I do? What’s caused it?” she wasn’t quite prepared for the response.

 

“That’s it though, nothing- nothing caused this. I-I just I don’t know why-,” Peter muttered his voice breaking on the last word.

 

Sometimes he just didn’t feel right in his own skin, that he couldn’t control anything because it wasn’t him who was in control. He could have the remote for the first minute and then someone would steal it for the remainder of the episode- turning the volume up and down, switching channels- and Peter could only watch on the sidelines. The poor puppy who couldn’t use his thumbs. 

 

“Come on, Peter, I know somethings wrong,” May said again, laying down next to him and wrapping her arms around him and yet he felt no comfort. He wormed away from her.

 

“Can I just be alone, please?”

 

“Yeah, sure, honey. Just- when you’re ready…” she brushed his hair back, gave him a kiss, and excited the room. 

 

Once she was gone, Peter only then realized how much he missed the company. When she was here, he wanted to be alone and now that she was gone- he just wished for her comfort. 

 

He didn’t know what he wanted and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why his body was telling him two things at once, all he knew was that he wanted it to stop.  _ He _ just wanted to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I recently attended a seminar about childhood trauma and I thought, hey, I know a teenage superhero who has been through a lot of trauma. One thing that was mentioned was how, kids who have been through trauma are receiving two different messages from their brains at a time. For example, that they want to be held, but then they are frightened of an adult holding them. It's sad, confusing, and, in most cases, the kids don't even know why they behave this way. I've attempted to convey that in this fic. Hope you have a less depressing rest of your day :)


End file.
